


Watching The Flames Burn High

by FunkyinFishnet



Series: To Live Is To Drown [5]
Category: Ripper Street
Genre: Alternate Canon, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 23:10:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1243990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s much darkness surrounding those Hobbs cares about. He gnaws on the knowledge that Jackson is looking to a future away from London. He tries not to drown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I was done with this fic series lol. But I watched some of series two and got inspired. Also I heard that the show is getting another series - thanks Amazon! - so thought this was a good time to post it :) Title is a lyric from 'You Start The Fire', a WWE-created Bret Hart tribute song.

 

 

The first Hobbs knew of it was when Miss Hart tucked a fold of paper into her skirts without discussing the paper's contents with Captain Jackson. Hobbs wondered if it was some bill that Jackson would disapprove of, though that seemed so unlikely considering Jackson's character and desires. Miss Susan caught Hobbs looking and only managed a sick-looking smile before clients began arriving.

 

 

Hobbs spent most of his time based at Miss Hart's now, out of uniform, listening and helping all he could, at Miss Hart's and on the streets beyond. Inspector Reid himself had ordered Hobbs' new beat, believing that in the current rupturing and increasingly uncertain times, much could be gained from Hobbs' presence outside H Division. Hobbs had dug up a lot of useful information, though was nagged by the suspicion that the Inspector also liked a member of his team present on Miss Hart's property for leverage. Miss Hart seemed pleased by his presence though, especially now that he was no longer in uniform. He liked making Miss Hart smile.

 

 

The way she frowned over the accounting books gave him pause though and perhaps, perhaps that paper _had_ been a bill of some sort, an expense she had not expected? It would explain her tightness of expression, very few things caused Miss Hart such distress, except for difficulties in keeping her house open and her girls working. There was little Hobbs could do about it though, he could not increase his monthly payments to her and she did not ask that of him.

 

 

He worried though, because Jackson had been looking distracted lately and Inspector Reid was still most devastated by his wife's disgrace and now Miss Hart was pulling more armour about herself. Hobbs felt adrift, unable to help as much as he desired to. It was like drowning all over again.

 

 

“Duggan,” Ruth whispered to him one afternoon. “I saw Miss Susan's papers once. It's him that owns these walls. He might as well own all of us.”

 

 

Duggan was not a pleasant name. Hobbs knew of him and his greed, of how much he liked power over his tenants and attractive women in his debt. Yes, it made too much sense for him to be at the root of Miss Hart's worries. Did Jackson know of them? It would explain his distracted air.

 

 

Captain Jackson and Miss Hart stood as husband and wife, a long-standing arrangement that allowed them distance from some elements of the world, though it was unlikely to dissuade Mr Duggan from approaching Miss Hart disrespectfully. Truly the arrangement did not hurt Hobbs, because he shared Jackson's bed and Miss Hart never lied to him, he knew her well enough to be sure of that. He was glad to live with them both.

 

 

So one morning, when Jackson had been roused early by Inspector Reid and had kissed Hobbs with an extra curl of heat and desire that had caused Hobbs to moan as they parted, Hobbs made his way down to Miss Hart's drawing room. She was wearing green and pink and looked very fine with feathers in her hair. She was pouring tea and filled a cup for him without a word. Hobbs carefully grasped the china with a nod of thanks and sat down in silence, the steam from the cup warming his face. Miss Hart did not ask why he was there or demand that he leave, rather she continued to work at her desk, pausing to drink her tea and sit with eyes closed, as though gathering strength for what might next walk through her door.

 

 

She must be lonely, Hobbs thought, not for the first time. She was surrounded by girls who worked hard for her and she and the Captain often argued, for their history together was rich with conflict, and now there were these silent money troubles which she was evidently endeavouring to shoulder alone. It was a miracle sometimes that she was able to see a day through with an unbowed head.

 

 

Hobbs couldn't deliver her from such difficulties, aside from occupying Captain Jackson elsewhere to cease their arguments for a time, but he could do this, sit at her side and listen if she had words that she wished to spill. He could drink tea and soak in the silence with her, perhaps allowing her to realise that she was not alone. She had Captain Jackson and she had Hobbs and if there was a dire situation, then Inspector Reid would help too.

 

 

When he glanced upwards, Hobbs saw the slight smile on Miss Hart's face as she cast a look his way. It was a better expression than many she had worn lately, it was almost appreciative in fact, so Hobbs counted himself victorious. Yes, he could do this, and he would, as often as work allowed it. He raised his cup slightly, as though in a toast. Miss Hart's expression appeared perhaps less shadowed than before. Silence reigned.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Jackson was cursing as he stomped in through the front door. His eyes spoke of long nights spent in the H Division basement and his hands quickly reached for Hobbs, bringing the two of them close together.

 

 

“Sir? You're...”

 

 

Hobbs' words were swallowed by the Captain, who acted as though he was desperately seeking something which he usually sought in a brewer's yard. Hobbs whimpered, his arms winding automatically around Captain Jackson's waist as the Captain's tongue quested hungrily beyond Hobbs' lips, until suddenly Hobbs could breathe again. Jackson's arm was still close around his shoulder and Lottie laughed from nearby, her red dress gleaming in the dim light.

 

 

“You'll get twice a rate if you perform in such a way out here,” she leered.

 

 

“But twice the pleasure if we occupy ourselves privately,” Jackson shot back, leading Hobbs up the stairs.

 

 

He was greedy that day, pushing Hobbs down onto their bed, pulling shirts and trousers away until only skin remained between them. Hobbs felt dizzy from it, the sudden movement and demands, but there was an answering greed growing within him and he could do nothing but respond. He moved up onto all fours as Jackson sucked marks down his back – Hobbs remembered a night when Jackson had seen fit to name all the bones his mouth brushed against. It had been a very memorable night. It looked like today was fixing to become similar.

 

 

Captain Jackson was unforgiving as he thrust inside of Hobbs, the movement practised and almost brutal. Hobbs moaned at the burn and pleasure, the combination setting alight every one of his nerves. He knew that the Captain had days which made him seek solace in the kind of dens that H Division sometimes strove to wipe out, he was glad when Jackson came to him instead. Hobbs wanted to be the kind of solace that the Captain most often sought out.

 

 

The pace that Captain Jackson set was bracing and Hobbs could feel the Captain's grip bruising his waist. It seemed of little import in that moment, heat and pleasure racing to erupt within Hobbs and soon enough, his groans heightened and he half-collapsed forward, trying to keep himself braced for the Captain's sake, despite feeling woozy with satiation. It mattered little, with a couple more sharp snaps of his hips, the Captain finished with a tortured moan. He patted Hobbs' shoulder, trying to catch his breath, then lightly squeezed the nape of Hobbs' neck, kissing there before withdrawing and seeking his tobacco tin.

 

 

Hobbs lay down for a moment, enjoying the strain and burn of his muscles. He had found that he liked to linger on such feelings, they seemed like reminders of where he was, tethers to this place. Then he reached for a bowl of water and cut of cloth, he'd discovered that lying too long with sweat drying on his skin made him itch.

 

 

He was running a dampened cloth over his body when he saw that Captain Jackson, still unclothed, was watching him thoughtfully, lit cheroot in hand. There was a pensive air to him, something that Hobbs had noticed too often burdened the Captain lately. He tried for a smile.

 

 

“Something ails you, sir?”

 

 

“You're not here to peer inside my head, Hobbs.”

 

 

“No, sir.” Hobbs paused, soaking the cloth once more. “I'm here because I want to be.”

 

 

Jackson's expression sharpened and he nodded slowly before gathering words again. “You'd stay here, London? No plans for beyond the smog?”

 

 

Hobbs frowned a little, his confusion plain. “London's where my family dwells, sir, and where I hope to make some difference as Inspector Reid does. Beyond the smog, as you put it, I fear I'd lose my way.”

 

 

Jackson blew out smoke slowly, as though soaking in Hobbs' words and Hobbs wondered suddenly, did Jackson ask because he was considering the world beyond London? It was where he came from after all, him and Miss Hart. Did he one day dream of striking out again? Only the colonies wouldn't bring him much but pain, would they? Perhaps the idea of roots unnerved Captain Jackson. Did they bring to mind Matthew Judge and the misadventures which had cost him and Miss Hart dear?

 

 

A shiver ploughed down Hobbs' spine, for he and Captain Jackson had made no promises to each other. Would Jackson think twice about leaving? Hobbs looked downwards. He had thought, hoped, that since Captain Jackson had asked him to share his room and bed that perhaps it spoke well of the future, or at least of what lay nearby. Had he deceived himself?

 

 

Jackson's hand came to rest upon Hobbs', stilling its work and took the cloth himself to run long languid lines down Hobbs' body, his eyes very much enjoying the view. Hobbs could barely think to breathe, unable to look away from Jackson's intent ministrations.

 

 

“My feet itch, Hobbs,” Jackson spoke at last. “I'm not the type to sink in for a long stay. I seek more than being chained to Reid as he crusades so far into this place that it consumes him.”

 

 

Hobbs nodded jerkily, something trembling hard deep in his chest, and attempted not to seem wounded. “I won't stop you, sir, if that's...if leaving's what you want best.”

 

 

Jackson's ministrations slowed and he dropped the cloth into the nearby bowl. He balanced his cheroot within reach and thumbed gently at Hobbs' cheek. There was something almost gentle about the movement, it made Hobbs' insides tremble harder and his wounds seem so much deeper. Would Miss Hart allow him to stay without Jackson here also? And how would she deal with her monetary problems without Jackson's wage? Did Jackson not know what distress he could be causing with his absence?

 

 

“What I want...” Jackson trailed off, seeming lost elsewhere for a while before he leaned closer, his kiss uncharacteristically soft. “Well, that hardly matters, does it?”

 

 

Hobbs began to protest but Jackson kissed him again, licking his mouth open with thoroughness as he proceeded to take Hobbs apart once more. There was a yearning between them this time though that Hobbs clung to, his eyes staying locked on Jackson's throughout, so much passing between them without sound.

 

 

They slept curled up together, silence and cheroot thick in the air.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

The shouting had been going on all morning. It had begun before Hobbs had left to visit his mother and was still going when he returned. There, he found Inspector Reid in the parlour, accompanied by a well-dressed young man with keen eyes. His manner gave him away – this must be the new man Jackson had spoken of, Constable Flight, the one foisted on the Inspector by Chief Inspector Aberline. Something squeezed Hobbs' guts and he was very aware of his own rough stained trousers and shirt unbuttoned at the neck, his jacket a dark unassuming green. Lillian rose to meet him as he entered, leaning close to whisper coyly in his ear.

 

 

“See if he has interests after.”

 

 

Hobbs coloured, though not as deeply as he once would have done. He was getting used to the girls' blunt manners and how much they liked to tease him. Lottie winked at him as he passed and all the girls greeted him as he made his way through. He doffed his bowler at Reid.

 

 

“Apologies, sir. You've not been waiting long?”

 

 

Reid looked tight around the eyes though he managed a sort of twisted smile. “Only moments. How goes your beat, Hobbs?”

 

 

“Exhausting, sir, but it excites too. I hope what I heard can aid you, sir.”

 

 

Hobbs handed over a small notebook and Reid nodded, tucking it away inside his jacket. His companion stayed silent, watching intently. Oddly Reid did not see fit to introduce the man - was Flight not to be trusted yet? Or was he being punished for some infraction? Whatever the reason, Hobbs would not step forward until called to do so. He nodded at Flight and continued to talking to the Inspector.

 

 

“The girls are amenable, sir, to receive messages on my behalf. Would you like some tea?”

 

 

“Yes, I fear this day has been a thirsty one.”

 

 

Hobbs nodded to Caroline who disappeared quickly to make up a pot. He didn't sit himself, it felt too strange a thing to be seated in the Inspector’s presence. Something was hurled and smashed in the room next door. Hobbs winced; from the shouting, Jackson had just discovered that Duggan's name was upon Miss Hart's business. How was it that Captain Jackson had not known such a thing until now? The fight was indeed a rousing one.

 

 

“Does Captain Jackson continue with plans to leave London?” Reid asked.

 

 

Hobbs was startled into silence for a few paltry seconds, but of course the Inspector knew of Jackson's thoughts for the future. He could so often discern what people kept purposefully hidden, and he seemed so unsurprised at the noise that Miss Hart and the Captain were currently causing, perhaps he had overheard an argument such as this before, about Jackson's future plans. No doubt it displeased him, he daily relied on Jackson greatly for his expertise.

 

 

Hobbs pressed his lips together, keeping silent his own stab of pain. “I fear that something else has caught his ear now, sir.”

 

 

Before Reid could comment, the door was flung open and Jackson stormed out. He came to an abrupt halt when he spied his colleagues.

 

 

“Reid, this had better be the unholiest of emergencies...”

 

 

Caroline appeared quietly with a tray of cups and saucers, which she quickly deposited before exiting. Hobbs made sure to smile her way, wanting her to know how grateful he was. Flight drank his tea quickly, as though unsure when he would next have such a comfort. Captain Jackson had said that the man was eager.

 

 

Hobbs turned back to the conversation in time to hear Inspector Reid speak “...and our trail leads us to the river and recent unlikely drownings. I have need of your medical mind.”

 

 

The Captain's gaze skittered to Hobbs for a precious moment. Yes, talk of drownings did set Hobbs' heart running and he clenched a fist to stop himself from shaking. He still dreamt of water above his head, stinging his eyes, filling his lungs.

 

 

Jackson pulled on a jacket and nodded, sending a scathing look back towards Miss Hart's parlour. “I'll drown _myself_ before this night is through.”

 

 

He paused as he made to pass Hobbs, his closeness causing Hobbs' heart to calm somewhat. “Or maybe we'll both fight off the ferryman yet.”

 

 

Hobbs managed a smile at that, for the Captain was still thinking of a future featuring them both. But for how long? How long would London hold him? Did Jackson feel like a caged animal? The Captain headed for the door, Reid and Flight close behind as they bid Hobbs good day. Flight eyed him for a moment before leaving, Hobbs' skin prickled.

 

 

Caroline reappeared to take possession of the crockery. “Lil has the wrong side of it. The boy has an eye for your type, Dick, make no mistake.”

 

 

Hobbs' brow puckered and he shook his head. Flight's desires were not his concern, it just burrowed under his skin to see his former position filled. But Jackson did make frequent mention of the fact that they needed more men at H Division, that riots were all too regular now. So long as Flight proved honourable, he could desire as he wished. Hobbs would hardly object.

 

 

He rescued a cup and saucer from Caroline and ventured carefully into Miss Hart's parlour. She looked tight with fury and something distressingly like despair. Did she want to be alone? She had spent the grip of the day arguing with Captain Jackson, perhaps solitude and quiet was what she needed now. Only she did not tell him to leave and she was never shy of doing so before. So he placed the cup and saucer at her elbow and sat beside her, silent and waiting.

 

 

“You have an opinion on this?” she spoke at last, sharp and defiant.

 

 

Hobbs wet his lips; he did not want to add to her dour mood. “I think that Duggan is dangerous, miss. And that he takes pleasure in his tenants' misfortunes.”

 

 

“And now he adds to them." There was a crack in Miss Hart's voice. “A deplorable increase in rent.”

 

 

Hobbs swallowed his own anger and horror, Miss Hart was displaying enough for both of them. “I don't have a solution, miss, though I wish I did. He could take time with the girls, as payment? It's been known from him before.”

 

 

“If it were only that simple...”

 

 

Miss Hart silenced herself then and reached for her cup. There was a fine tremble to her hand that caused Hobbs to stare and worry. Duggan must have asked a terrible price. Worry lay on both their shoulders now, neither able to find word or gesture to shift it.


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

“Did you know of Duggan's name on the deeds?”

 

 

Hobbs glanced up, startled, almost upsetting the ink pot in his haste. He hadn't realised that Captain Jackson had entered the room. Hobbs' heart thumped loud and quick, his breath catching at the sight of the Captain, rumpled as always but with a look of suspicion that made an all-too-familiar pain slice through Hobbs. It'd been making itself known far too often lately.

 

 

Hobbs cleared his throat before attempting to cause such suspicion and pain to disappear. “Only when Ruth made mention of it. I assumed it was old knowledge, sir.”

 

 

Jackson sighed and discarded his battered trilby. He looked suddenly weary, his suspicion set aside for now. Hobbs' mouth twisted into a frown and he quickly attempted to stow his papers and ink. He had spent the afternoon down at the fish market and his skin still smelled of fresh catches. He did not feel presentable or desirable in the least.

 

 

“I would have said something, sir, had I known you weren't party to it,” he continued earnestly.

 

 

Jackson nodded, his hand rising to stroke Hobbs' hair before bringing the younger man closer until their foreheads touched. Hobbs breathed in the Captain's air, his heart surely trembling loud enough for Jackson to hear. The Captain laid his hands on Hobbs' hips for a moment, as though steadying him into the right position, and then began unbuttoning Hobbs' shirt.

 

 

“I know.”

 

 

It was all that Captain Jackson said aloud. Everything else was communicated mouth to mouth, skin on skin, ink on fingers wet enough to leave marks. It wasn't the only thing that did.

 

 

*

 

 

Hobbs hadn't been expecting the punch. One moment he'd been chatting to folk in the fuggy public house, the next a fight broke out and a man with red hair and a beard went for him, his fists making fresh meat out of Hobbs' face. He had little time to wonder if the man knew who he was, he was too busy trying to defend himself. He was not greatly successful against the larger opponent, soon finding himself on the sticky tavern floor, blows raining down. His ribs hurt and his face was a mess of pain, he tried to strike out, to protect himself, but nothing he did appeared to make a difference.

 

 

Then there were whistles and the familiar thwack of a billy-club. Someone was breaking up the fight. Hobbs groaned, shoving at a nearby ankle. His assailant got one more punch in before he was dragged away and then Constable Flight was crouching down nearby. Hobbs managed a painful sort of smile.

 

 

“Thank you, constable.”

 

 

Flight smiled fleetingly and pressed a quick hand to Hobbs' shoulder. “I hope your conversation was worth the beating.”

 

 

He didn't wait for an answer, instead he began to lever Hobbs carefully to his feet. Hobbs could not prevent himself from uttering pained noises, his chest and ribs hurt so and he could not think of how pulped his face was. Flight did not shy away from him though and helped him in leaving the building.

 

 

“To Miss Hart’s? Or do you have another engagement?”

 

 

Flight’s words were almost wry, or maybe his Irish lilt twisted all his speech that way. Hobbs shook his head and then grimaced at the resulting pain.

 

 

“Miss Hart’s, if you please.”

 

 

Flight nodded and assisted him in his walking. Hobbs only hoped that there wouldn't be many clients in the front parlour when he arrived, they were likely to exit quickly upon seeing his injuries and Miss Hart needed the money. Flight didn’t talk much, he seemed only concerned with keeping them both steady and ensuring that Hobbs didn’t find himself in too much pain. It was a relief to lean on the constable.

 

 

They reached Miss Hart’s in good time and Flight elbowed his way past the door, nodding his head courteously at the girls who looked up at the noise. There were many gasps and several of them rushed to help Hobbs into a chair.

 

 

“Dick! Whose boot have you been under?” Lottie fussed, as Mags brought forward a bowl of water and a handful of cloth scraps.

 

 

“Risk of the work, miss,” Hobbs reminded her. “Here, I’ll do it. Miss Hart won’t want you distracted.”

 

 

The girls all murmured their worries but left him alone. Hobbs made sure that he moved to a corner where none would bother him and Flight close by, pressing a soaked cloth or two to Hobbs’ face. Hobbs hissed as a particularly tender spot was dealt with. Flight's expression was intent as he worked, his tone leisurely when he spoke.

 

 

“I hear that Miss Hart and Captain Jackson are married.”

 

 

Hobbs held his gaze and nodded. “A fortunate day for them both.”

 

 

There was a pause and Flight only broke the silence after Hobbs’ facial scrapes were painfully cleaned out. “I also hear that a man with your name and face died, down by the river, and that Reid’s men are so loyal they fight death to walk these streets at his side.”

 

 

Hobbs had heard those stories before too. His bloody hand reached for the lining of his jacket, for the copper coins residing there. He was alive, even if he did feel ghostly more often than not. He was alive, with copper pressed to skin to prove it.

 

 

“I know those stories,” he offered eventually. “Only the ferryman didn’t get the full trip. Too much left unfinished on this shore.”

 

 

Whatever Flight was going to say in reply was hushed by the sudden appearance of Captain Jackson at the door. His eyes narrowed when he spied Hobbs in the corner, Flight close with hands about his person. Hobbs managed a weak smile; he knew he looked a right state. The Captain quickly made his way over, pulled a bag from his shoulder, and hunched down in front of Hobbs.

 

 

“Not making my life easy, are you, Hobbs?”

 

 

“No, sir, though I can’t say that such a painful outcome was my intention.”

 

 

Jackson ran a soothing hand down Hobbs’ thigh and spared a glance for the watching Flight. “Playing nursemaid, Flight?”

 

 

Flight went thin-lipped and stiff. “Doing my duty, Captain. I heard the commotion and saw someone in need of assistance.”

 

 

“I’m grateful,” Hobbs put in, because he was. “And thank you, for seeing me homeward also.”

 

 

Flight nodded at him and moved away so that Captain Jackson could have more room. Hobbs let out a breath and winced at the pain in his ribs. Jackson began testing the area with his hands, checking Hobbs’ reactions carefully. Hobbs sank into his touch and Jackson squeezed his wrist. Hobbs closed his eyes.

 

 

He might have felt a brief touch to his hairline but that was probably mere imagination. He let himself drift, let himself get consumed by the firm educated touch of Captain Jackson, doing what he could to take away Hobbs’ pain. It was something of an irony considering how at the root of Hobbs’ inner turmoil he had been lately.

 

 

Eventually, Jackson called his name softly and Hobbs opened his eyes to find the Captain repacking his bag. He slanted a glance towards the staircase.

 

 

“You need rest for the worst of it, some spirits too.”

 

 

It was an invitation as much as anything else and Hobbs smiled a funny little smile as Jackson easily helped him to his feet, holding Hobbs close as they made their way towards the stars. Flight was talking seriously to two of the girls but looked up when Jackson and Hobbs passed by. Jackson smirked more than a little.

 

 

“Enjoy yourself, Flight, but know that you’ll find no free favours in this house.”

 

 

“Unless a certain someone’s looking for a surgeon’s hands,” Caroline called out with a filthy sort of tone and wink.

 

 

Hobbs cracked something of a wry laugh, his smile hurting. “In this state, such attentions would be a miracle.”

 

 

The girls called out more suggestions but Jackson was turning Hobbs towards their room. Hobbs relished that such a place existed – _their_ room – and leaned into Jackson as they walked, together, side by side. He tried to memorise the warmth, the feeling of Jackson so close by and in step with him. He was getting increasingly tense as the days passed, and filled with glimpses of a future time, a time when the water would rise above his head again, above Miss Hart too, and Jackson wouldn’t be there beside him, beside them.

 

 

Hobbs' hands clenched around copper coins, smothered in his jacket’s lining, and around a handful of Jackson’s shirt. The door closed loudly behind them.

 

 

_-the end_


End file.
